


will you still wait for me

by Feanoriel



Series: A Tale of Fëanor and Nerdanel [11]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 'Tis The Season, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Feanor Returns, Past Character Death, Tolkien Secret Santa, What-If, other characters mentioned only - Freeform, post Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feanoriel/pseuds/Feanoriel
Summary: In which Fëanor finally returns from Mandos, a long time after his death.
Relationships: Fëanor | Curufinwë & Vala | Valar, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel, Manwë Súlimo & Vala | Valar
Series: A Tale of Fëanor and Nerdanel [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1488221
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa





	will you still wait for me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightofthetrees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightofthetrees/gifts).



> Here my entry for the Tolkien Secret Santa ! A very special thanks to @ **Elesianne** and to @ **bunn** for beta-reading this, and happy holidays to everyone ! 
> 
> I’ve used Quenya names for this fanfic, so  
> Curufinwë Fëanáro = Fëanor  
> Ñolofinwë = Fingolfin  
> and since I follow the Shibboleth, Míriel is called Míriel Therindë in this fic.

There's a moment in life  
When all the years will pass by  
And the eyes filled with tears  
We once shed  
We recognize failures  
The desperate cries  
Of the ones who believed in our lies  
\-- Blind Guardian, The Maiden and the Minstrel Knight 

The light of the sun was painful to watch. 

It was strange, Fëanáro thought, raising his hand to shield his eyes a little from the piercing rays, how the light of the new sun was at the same time so cold and so _burning_ , deprived of the coziness of the light of the Trees, and at the same unforgiving in its radiance, for every shadow was its enemy, even the quiet shadows of the trees and of the mountains. 

After all, wasn’t that its purpose? The Sun was born out of the despair of the Valar, when they had known that the Trees were lost forever, and they had given it to Arien, the Shining Lady, the merciless enemy of Morgoth. She didn’t search for peace but for revenge, and Morgoth’s thralls trembled before her, but at the same time, her light burned Arda as a whole when she wandered over the skies. 

Fëanáro suddenly felt grateful that the Máhanaxar was covered by a great vault. The Judgement of the Valar was terrible enough without having to listen to it under the piercing light of the new sun, an eternal reminder of his refusal to give the Silmarilli to the Valar. 

He didn’t say a word when Eönwë led him across the great doors of the Máhanaxar, his steps echoing across the high walls of stone, shaped by the craft of Aulë. It was like a single moment hadn’t passed since that doomed day on which he and Ñolofinwë had tried to reconcile with each other in front of the Valar. Fëanáro could do nothing but smile a bitter smile. Hollow had been for him those words, and still, Ñolofinwë had been stubborn enough to cross the Grinding Ice just to take his revenge against him. No matter how much Fëanáro had scorned and disowned him, Ñolofinwë had proved to share part of his fierce spirit.

Fëanáro sighed, raising his right hand, so that he can observe it a little better. At a superficial look, it would look no different from how it had once been, the same hand that had shaken Ñolofinwë’s in that doomed pact, the same hand that had raised his sword against his father’s allies and friends. But if one looked more closely, if one knew how Fëanáro’s hands had once looked, such a person would notice how smooth his hands are now, almost soft, completely deprived of the calluses that years and years of work on the forge and of sword training had left on his fingers and on his palms. 

His new body was another matter of distress for him. The first moments after his reincarnation had been painful one for after ages and ages in the silent quiet of Mandos, he had completely forgotten how it was to breathe, to touch, to see, to smell, to taste, to _feel_ again. He remembered how he had even cried, exactly like a newborn infant who got torn out from the peace and the warmth of his mother’s womb to see the light for the first time. 

Fëanáro tightened his fists. This new body was nothing but another cruel proof of how everything had changed, of how he was no longer in the world he had been born into. Irmo had explained to him that since his old body was now lost forever, made of ashes that had been taken away by the wind, the Valar had no choice but to create a complete new body for him using in equal measure Aulë’s craft and Varda’s wisdom, a body that had taken long years to be crafted and modeled as they wanted to, for Fëanáro’s spirit burned like fire, and they had feared that the mere flesh couldn’t contain it. 

But it didn’t matter how much craft and skill the Valar had used to give him a new _hröa_ , it still felt like a betrayal to Fëanáro. This wasn’t the body he remembered, the body he had used for creating his Silmarilli, the body that had sired his sons, the one that Nerdanel had embraced in the long nights they spent together. It sounded like a cruel joke, Fëanáro thought, how his mother Míriel had given away her own life, her own spirit, carrying him in her belly while her vital force was slowly sucked away from her day by day, when the Valar had managed to bring him again into this world without having to sacrifice a life. 

And it was so that immersed in such grim thoughts, Fëanáro entered once again the Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom where the Valar sit on their thrones. An immense vault in the shape of the stardome was above their heads so that the hall seemed endless like the open space beyond the Door of the Morning. 

A long time had passed since the last time Fëanáro had seen Manwë, the High King of Arda, and his mouth, for all his pride, dried. He suddenly remembered the cruel, cold joy that had taken over him when in the Halls of Mandos Vairë had woven of the fall of Morgoth, and of how he had been cast in the Timeless Void, for it seemed to him that finally the day of his revenge had come, the day on which Morgoth had finally paid for his crimes, and for the deaths of Finwë and of Fëanáro’s sons. But now, looking at Manwë’s unperturbed face, a sudden, terrible doubt crossed his mind.

Oh, aye, Manwë would never hurt a child of Eru by his own hand … but still, Manwë was the one who had closed his ears to the prayers and at the tears of the Noldor, who had left countless mariners to die in the Shadowy Sea in the vain attempt to reach Aman, and had left others to sleep an eternal sleep on the Enchanted Islands, who had never moved his eyes towards the wars and the miseries of the Middle Earth, who had let an entire island to disappear under the sea, and who had condemned to a fate worse than death the Men who had dared to challenge his Ban. 

‘Don’t be a fool’, he told himself, raising his chin and meeting Manwë’s eyes, blue as the open sky. ‘They could have cast you in the Void countless times since the moment you came to the Halls of Mandos, and why would they have bothered to create for you a new body? Aulë isn’t going to waste his craft in the Void, and Varda is known for her mercy. Anyway, whatever Manwë is going to say, I’m not going to tremble in front of him like a lamb in front of a wolf. I’m Fëanáro Curufinwë, I’ve died with a sword in my hand and the bodies of my enemies at my feet, and I come to meet my doom with a laugh on my lips.’

Fëanáro moved a step back, and he let his gaze wander the enormous hall, looking at the Powers sitting over their thrones, all of them taller than the towers of Tirion. Here was Varda, just next to Manwë, her beauty impossible to describe even for an expert rhetorician like him. Here, grim Mandos, the only Vala that Fëanáro had seen in his long time in the Halls, and Irmo Lórien, the first Vala he had met when he had opened his eyes and begun his new life. Here Aulë, his ancient master, and Oromë, who had been his son’s teacher. Here Yavanna, who had begged him to give her the Silmarilli, so that she could heal the dying Trees, and here Vairë, who had let him look at her weavings and tapestries to know the fates of his dear ones. Here Estë, who had looked after his mother in the long years in which her body had slept in the Gardens of Lórien, and Nienna who had prayed for him, and for Arda, and even for Morgoth. And here Nessa and Vána, radiant like maidens on their wedding day, and Ulmo the terrible, who had drowned the ships of the rebels, and the wild Tulkas, who bore no sympathy for him. 

‘At least,’ thought Fëanáro with grim irony. ‘If I have to be judged for my crimes, who else can brag of being judged by the Valar themselves, the great Powers of Arda?’

“Fëanáro Curufinwë” Manwë’s voice echoed like thunder within the high walls of stone. “It has been a long time since the last time I saw your face.” 

‘And this is not the face that you remember’ Fëanáro thought. ‘For my old body was burned in the same instant my spirit left it, and this is but a copy of it.’

“I can say the same thing about you, Lord of the Breaths of Arda” Fëanáro answered, keeping his voice as flat as possible. No matter if he was under the judgement of the Valar, he had swore to himself that he wouldn’t call Manwë by his title of King of Arda. 

“So much time, and so much sorrow” Manwë sighed deeply, and for a moment, it was like the winds of the sky had collected around him, and Fëanáro felt their howling all above his head. “And yet. Despite all this sorrow, I bear no hate for you, son of Finwë, as I bear no hate for my brother.”

‘And yet’ thought Fëanáro bitterly. ‘You still have thrown him in the Void. No, Lord of Arda, I don’t wish to have you as my enemy, but at the same time, I don’t think I will ever call you my friend.’

“And no hate I bear to you, Lord of the Winds” said Fëanáro, carefully measuring his words. “But forgive me if I’m not eager to claim to be a friend of yours, for I’ve still no idea of why you’ve summoned me, or why a new body has been given to me. Has the End of Arda perhaps finally come, and Morgoth is slowly coming from the Void? Such was the Doom of Mandos, as far as I can remember.”

“No, son of Finwë.” Now it was Mandos who spoke, and for a moment it was like all other sounds ceased, and a grim silence fell on the Ring of Doom. “Even for all your pride, you should know that you’ve no clue of what’s the true will of Eru All-father. The End of Arda will not come soon, but long ages have passed since your death, and the world has changed since then. The dominion of Men has come, and the Periannath have crossed the Straight Road. A child of Aulë came after them. Eru had spoken to us, and He has allowed thy return, but He has left us to decide your judgement, and left to you the free will to deal with it. So spoke Eru.”

Fëanáro remained silent: for once, he had lost all his words. He had never begged for forgiveness, not even in his darkest moment, when the regret for having the blood of his own sons on his hands had become too painful to bear. How could he disavow everything he had always believed in his life, everything he had fought for, and all to merely kneel in front of a King he had never recognized? Not even the name of Eru had managed to change his mind, for Eru had always been no more than a nebulous idea in Fëanáro’s mind, someone who had never entered Arda nor had ever interacted with the Children. And for that matter, why should Fëanáro recognize someone who was beyond the boundaries of Arda, beyond any limit of the flesh and of the matter of Arda itself, despite having once shaped it?

And yet, here Fëanáro was, and Mandos was telling him that the End of Arda was still long to come, and that he was once again among the Living, and that free will would be left to him, so that he could choose again his own fate. It may sound like a too good offering to be completely believable, but oh, if it was true …!

“So this is how it is” Fëanáro breathed. “You say to me that I can live again under the sky, and to be again among the Living, and believe me when I say that nothing will make me happier than this offering, but allow me a question. Call me suspicious, but I’ve learned at my expense that everything comes with a price. All you great lords have summoned me before your eyes, and I doubt that you all wish to see me dance like the daughter of Melian did for Lord Mandos. Especially because, in any case, I’m not that great a dancer.”

Tulkas, who had remained silent until that moment, suddenly burst out, and his voice was like a cascade of stone. “You insolent, arrogant bastard! How dare you? You dare to speak in such a manner to the King of Arda, and to the Judge of the Dead? Hold your poisonous tongue, Noldo, for if Lord Manwë had allowed me to do it, I would have chained you like I did with Melkor, and I would have cast you in the Void together with him!”

“I am not offended, Tulkas.” Manwë raised his hand to calm the Champion of the Valar. Fëanáro noticed that Manwë was smiling, and he was surprised, for he had rarely seen something that could resemble amusement on the stone-like face of the King of the Valar. “In any case, yes, Curufinwë Finwion, there’s a reason why we have summoned you here. As Mandos said, Eru All-father has allowed your return, but He has left us to handle your judgement. And so we’re going to judge you, and on you alone your verdict will depend.”

Fëanáro stayed silent for a moment, then finally replied. “Very well. I do accept it, and after all, you all know what I did. I’ve no intention to deny it.” 

He did wonder which kind of punishment the Valar had in their minds for him, if they judged him too guilty to obtain their forgiveness. After the words of Mandos, he doubted that they still wanted to throw him in the Void. Perhaps they would send him again to the Halls of Mandos, but then, why create a totally new body for him, at the cost of all that labour and time? 

But in any case, he wasn’t afraid. The past was past, and he couldn’t turn back time. There was no way in which he could deny what he had done; and why should he escape from the truth? He remembered the long centuries, the long _millennia_ he had spent in Mandos, alone with his thoughts and his memories, his ghosts and his regrets, the tapestries of Vairë his only contact with the world of the Living, with the people he had once loved. He had had all the time to think about his choices and his decisions, in the darkness of Mandos. 

Unexpectedly, it was Yavanna who spoke. “I just want to ask you a question, Fëanáro Therindion, nothing more, nothing less. Answer sincerely, I ask no more.”

Hearing Yavanna’s voice, Fëanáro shivered. He didn’t fear her, no more than he feared any of the Valar, but her voice … oh, her voice was like the gentle caress of daylight on the skin, like the wind that moves all the trees in a forest, like the intoxicating smell of thousands and thousands of flowers. It made him remember a day of summer long gone by, a memory where he had long lingered in the Halls of Mandos in some of his most grim moments, but that now returned with an energy that it had lacked in the cold House of the Dead. 

Fëanáro felt a pleasant rush of heat in his groin, and his blood beating furiously in his ears. He gritted his teeth, trying to chase away the sensation. He had forgotten this too, he had forgotten how it was to be sensible to the pleasures of the flesh, and now he was paying for it against his better judgement. 

“I’m going to ask again what I asked you once” Yavanna’s voice was strangely sad, now, and finally Fëanáro managed to chase away that thought, closing it in the darkest places of his mind, where no one but him could find it. “Do you remember when Melkor destroyed the Trees, and I cried over my destroyed creation, and I asked you to give me your Silmarilli, so that I could try to restore their light again?”

“Aye, I do, Queen of Earth.”

“You do. I ask you, Fëanáro Therindion, if you were still on that hill, next to me and to my destroyed creations, and you had known of what later would have become of you and on your kin, of the Doom of Mandos and of the Oath, would you give to me your Silmarilli, so that I can restore the Light of my Trees?”

This time, Fëanáro had no hesitation, for he had known the answer for a long time.

“No, Giver of Fruits. I’ve answered you once why I wouldn’t do it, and once again I say: I cannot destroy the Silmarilli, not even now that they’re completely lost to me. Breaking them is like breaking my heart, it was like that once and it’s like that now. And this is my final decision.”

Fëanáro kept his voice low and calm, and when he finished talking, silence fell again in the Ring of Doom. He took a deep breath, and his gaze flew over the big vault of the Hall, from one throne to another. Manwë’s face was calm: he seemed neither pleased nor angered. Yavanna had closed her eyes, an expression of sorrow on her impossibly beautiful face, and Aulë beside her had lowered his head, equally grief-stricken as his wife. Fëanáro wondered if his old master had hoped for a different reply from him, or if he had expected to be deluded once again by his ancient student. Mandos was impossible to read as usual, for who could guess the thoughts of the Judge of the Dead?

It was Tulkas who was first to speak after his words: “Well, have you all listened to his answer? He doesn’t repent!” Tulkas struck a powerful blow to the armrest of his throne, and the whole Máhanaxar trembled under the power of such a stroke. “You cursed snake, you miserable bastard, you’ve spilled the blood of your own sons and not even that is enough to make you repent? What kind of abominable monster are you, that you are so convinced in your foolish pride? I swear to the One, I’ve never met a creature so filled with such malice as this Noldo, except maybe for Melkor! Let’s cast him into the Void, like his accomplice, so that finally Arda will be free of his curse!”

“Enough, Tulkas.” Manwë raised his hand, and his voice was stern now. “I won’t cast Curufinwë Finwion into the Void. Eru has spoken, and if Eru thinks he’s still redeemable, why should I go against His decision? Your heart and your intentions are good, aye, but dare not to speak against the will of Eru ever again, my friend.”  
Tulkas bowed his head to Manwë in respect, and he spoke no more. It was then that Fëanáro decided to speak.

“Lord of the Breaths of Arda, allow me a question,” he said. “As Mandos had said, not even I can guess what the true will of Eru is… but Tulkas is right. I would have never thought I could have once agreed with the Champion of the Valar, but you all have heard my answer to Yavanna. I’ve not changed my mind now, and I don’t think I will ever do it in my future. And believe me” he clenched his fists for a moment, for he feared that his voice could tremble. “I fully know the price I’ve paid for it. I fully know the fate of my own sons. I fully know the fate of my own blood. I’m not completely heartless.”

“Aye, I know” Mandos spoke, and the Hall was filled with the quiet whispers of thousands and thousands of restless souls. “You have long lingered in my Halls, long enough to make me aware of all your ghosts.” He fell silent, and Fëanáro noticed that, despite all, his hands were shaking.

‘Alas, I fully know the price I paid.’ he thought. ‘And oh, it was high. Too damn high …’

“You’ve answered yourself,” Manwë replied. “ Aye, you still have your deadly pride, and it will be your downfall again if you aren’t careful … but if there isn’t the option to fail, there won’t be the option to succeed, either. But the Dead do not have the possibilities that the Living have, they cannot _change_. Therefore keeping you in the Halls of Mandos is useless.”

Fëanáro’s heart missed a beat. “So … I’m returning among the Living? ”

“What other choice do we have?” Manwë continued. “How could we give you the possibility to change, if you were among the ones who can never change? How can you see how, in all your pride, you’re nothing but a little, infinitesimal part of Eru’s creation, if you don’t return in this new world, a world that isn’t the world you know anymore, and still, the world you’ve in some part contributed to creating? Perhaps one day you will realize it, and you will change your mind about Eru. But given how skeptical you are by nature, I can see no other way but making you taste and feel this new world, and let you make up your own mind about it. If this is Eru’s will, how can I question it?”

Fëanáro took a breath, unable to fully realize all the emotions that had taken over him. “But you yourself said that I still have my pride. Do you really want to send me again to the world of the Living, knowing what I did, and what I can still do? I’ve retained my free will, you said, and with it, the possibility of failure and the possibility of choosing to do evil. Do you really trust me that much, Lord of the Winds? I’m hardly infallible, and you fully know that.”

With his surprise, Manwë laughed. “Ah, Curufinwë, you really want to make me a tyrant like my brother. And I say it: as you know the price of your actions, I know the price I could pay in sending you again to the world. Do you think I don’t know the risks? But could I impose my will on you, and do it without becoming like my brother was? No, I can’t. Son of Finwë, son of Míriel, as you cannot forget what your actions brought, there’s a vision I cannot forget: a mirror in which, instead of my face, I see my brother’s. How easily could I be in his place, and be the one you called Morgoth Bauglir once, if I started imposing my will with force over the Children that Eru has left in my care? No, son of Míriel, son of Finwë, I can never do such a thing, not even with the most rebellious of the Children.” 

Fëanáro nodded slowly. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt a rush of sympathy for Manwë.

Of all the moments that had haunted him in Mandos, none was worse than those seconds before his death in which he had declared the deaths of his sons, not even the moment in which the demons of Morgoth had pierced his body with their flaming blades, not even when he had realized that death was upon him, and that the merciless trial of Mandos was waiting for him in his Halls.

“So it be” Fëanáro spoke. “Let me again enter living into Aman, and if it will be for bringing light or darkness, only time will decide.”

“Not in Aman, '' Oromë raised his hand, and Fëanáro met the gaze of the Lord of the Forests, the Vala who had once been his son’s teacher. Fëanáro wondered if Oromë had taken Tyelkormo under his care once Mandos had permitted his son to be reincarnated. “Didn’t Lord Manwë say that you need to see with your own eyes the change that has been brought on the world? Aye, Aman had partially changed, for our Blessed Realm has welcomed both the Mortal Children and the Adopted Children of the One, but not as much as the world outside our kingdom. You had once said that you would have never permitted to the Mortal Men to take the place of the Quendi in the Living World, and now that the Age of Men had come, you are going to see it with your own eyes, and to judge whether your greatest fear has become true, or if you can see in it the hand of Eru.”

Fëanáro released a little laughter. “Forgive me for my impertinence, my Lords and my Ladies, but I should have guessed that your offer contained a deception. So, once again, I’m exiled as I was in Formenos, but this time, I’m not allowed to reside in my palace.”

“You left us no other options” Manwë answered quietly. “You yourself had made clear that you care not for our laws, no more than you cared once. And then, why should we force you to reside here, under our rule?”

Fëanáro raised his eyebrow. “You fully know that I’m not going to bend the knee in front of you, not even knowing that you are the High King of Arda, Lord Manwë.”

“Nor I desire you to bend your knee, Curufinwë Finwion” said Manwë. “But you once said that Aman is a cage for you, so why should I bring you again to such a cage? You feel limited in your free will here, and as I’ve said, I’ve no wish to make myself a tyrant in forcing you to obey a law you cannot abide. No, Curufinwë, my brothers and sisters and I have long discussed it, and we all agreed on this decision. We are going to grant your old wish: to visit those lands in which your kin once woke up under the shining stars, and to see the vast lands of the Middle Earth. That was the desire of your heart, wasn’t it?”

Fëanáro remained silent for a moment. He had the unpleasant feeling he had lost the debate, but at the same time, what a new opportunity opened in front of him! How many times had he dreamed of the open spaces of Middle Earth, of the ancient lands where his kin had come from, since he was nothing but a young child? 

The Valar were right: he had once become restless in Aman, and he could easily become restless again, because how easily the Blessed Realm had turned into a golden cage for him! To instead wander free and without any burden in a new world, in a new world that he had somehow contributed to shaping … how could he deny that it had once been the real desire of his heart?

“Very well” Fëanáro stood up straighter, and once again, he met Manwë’s eyes. “I do accept it. But let me just make another request, and we will part in peace, Lord of the Breaths of Arda.”

“I’m listening.”

“I just ask to bid farewell to … to my family. I know they still dwell in Aman, and I just want to see to their faces again before leaving. I’ve no wish to bind them again with another Oath, I’ll let them live in peace and leave as they wish, but if they want to, if they agree with it, I wish to see them again.”

“As you wish,” Manwë smiled. “And I add that if someone wants to follow you, or agrees to leave with you, I’m not going to stop them. If they go of their own will, I’ll let them.”

Fëanáro smiled. “I’ll be glad to have a companion, if such a companion chooses to come with me by their own will.” He turned to look at the Council of the Valar as a whole. “So, farewell, my Lords and Ladies. I don’t know if I’m going to see you again, but strange are the matters of Arda, and it may be that one day I will stand again there in the Ring of Doom. I only hope that, if such a day will come again, I will be here as I am now, in peace and not as your enemy.”

“So be it. Let’s hope that one day, if you return here, you will call me your friend.” said Manwë, and spoke no more. 

“May your path be blessed, Fëanáro Therindion.” For the first time since he had entered, it was Varda who spoke, her voice the purest sound he had ever heard. No sound could match Varda’s voice, neither the nightingales in the Gardens of Lórien, nor the harps of the Vanyar or the gentle running of water on stone and grass, the first music the Quendi had ever heard. 

“I thank you, Lady of the Stars.” Fëanáro hadn’t forgotten that Varda had given her blessing to his Silmarilli. Perhaps, he wondered, she fully knew why they were worth so much in his eyes. 

She smiled, a smile that easily outshone the sun. “You’ve once taken a vow in my name, Fëanáro Therindion. I don’t forget it.”

“Aye, I did. And I never broke it, despite everything.” Fëanáro replied, his voice low. He had been called a traitor more than once, but he never betrayed _that_ promise he made, nor would he ever do so. “If I ever had honor, it resides in that promise, and that promise alone.”

“I know” Varda nodded. “Let me ease a little the burden on your heart: you’re not lost in despair, Fëanáro Therindion.”

“So Eru had said.”

“So I say too” Varda’s eyes shone like the stars she had once created. “And now, let us say farewell, for there is someone who is waiting for you outside these Halls, and I don’t want to let her wait any further.” 

*** 

Fëanáro realized he was sweating, and for once, the light of the sun was not at fault. He muttered a curse under his breath. Not even when he was brought to the Valar’s judgement he felt like that.

Eönwë had mercifully left him alone, leaving without any words. Fëanáro let his gaze wander on the high peaks of the Pelóri in the horizon. The sun was slowly setting, and the mountains cast high shadows on the green valley, breathing slowly.

Fëanáro’s heart - his new heart in a new body- missed a breath when he noticed the tall figure near a tree, not so far from him. 

‘She.’ Fëanáro took a step in her direction, his heart beating furiously. Oh, now he could see her more closely… 

“ _Fëanáro_ ”. She had noticed him, but she didn’t move from her position, standing tall and straight, her chin raised. Her eyes, though, piercing like the ones of a cat, followed his every step.

Only when he was standing right in front of her, Fëanáro dared to speak. “Nerdanel.”

She, whose memory had been his only joy and comfort in the Halls of Mandos. She, who had been the light of his eyes for so long. And even when they had become estranged, he hadn’t stopped loving her, not even when his heart had been devoured by resentment. 

It was her, and at the same time, it was not. Something had changed in her, some little changes that someone else might not have noticed, but which couldn’t escape his devoted eyes. A couple of wrinkles of weariness marked her high brow now, her mouth was stern, and her face betrayed no emotion. She reminded him of the light of the new sun: cold in her beauty, and merciless in her burning. 

Still, he drank that vision of her like a thirsty man who found a fountain of pure water in the desert, for he couldn’t withdraw his eyes from her. Nerdanel was wearing a blue gown, he noticed, rich velvet of a deep blue that made her auburn hair look even brighter. Blue had always been her favorite color. He clung to those crumbles of familiarity like a castaway to a log in the middle of the ocean. 

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he confessed at last.

“I just wanted to look at your face once again” Nerdanel’s voice was quiet, it betrayed no emotion. “Entire ages have passed since the last time I saw it…”

“I’m not here to beg for forgiveness. I know you would hardly grant it to me.” He met her eyes that the twilight had painted of a dark green. “Nor am I here to say empty words that would not matter at all to you and that would sound more like mocking than consolation to your ears.”

“Yes, I’m hardly going to concede you forgiveness any time soon.” She said, and a shadow passed in her eyes. “Nobody should put themselves between a mother and her children, not even the father of those children, Fëanáro.”

He had expected it, he had expected that she would have no mercy for him after what had happened to their sons, but all the same, those words were a stab in the heart for him. And still, her words weren’t even remotely as cruel as the words he spoke to himself in the loneliness of Mandos. 

“Our sons… Nerdanel, people called me heartless, but believe me, I never wanted this, I never wanted our sons to suffer what they suffered. I never wanted _you_ to suffer what you suffered.” Words were escaping Fëanáro’s mouth like a river flooding, all those words he had kept inside for too long. 

She smiled a sad smile: “Ah, if you had _really_ been heartless, it would have been easier, so much easier … but I could never believe such a lie. I knew you, and I always knew that the same hands that were stained in our kin’s blood are the ones that caressed me at night, and that lulled our children … and such awareness only increased my anger. Hate and love are two faces of the same coin, after all.” she sighed.

“If you hate me, my lady, I don’t blame you.” The wrath of Tulkas, the rage of his brother’s people, those were easy to bear, for Fëanáro cared nothing for them. She was a different matter, but how could he blame her? _Were you a true wife, one who had not been cozened by Aulë_ … how much must those words still hurt, even after all this time? “I don’t deny that if I could choose again to do what I did, I would still make the same choices, without hesitation. But even so … If there is something I could change in the course of the events, I would have never abandoned you so cruelly. You … Nerdanel, my last thought, before my spirit left my body to burn to ashes, it was for you. And your memories were my only company in Mandos.”

Silence fell again between them. A part of Fëanáro wanted to reach for her, to touch her hand, but he dared not. Touching her in such a moment when she was still so distant from him, it would be like disrespecting her will, or worse, imposing his presence on her. How could he do such a thing to her?

“I hated you once” Nerdanel spoke first, her voice low, her words coming out cautiously from her lips. “But it was a long time ago. How many ages had passed since then? The world has changed so many times. The elven kin have fled long ago from the shores of Middle Earth, the Age of Men has finally come … What is important now? My sons are returning, one by one. I … I have talked with them. So no, Fëanáro, I don’t hate you anymore.”

‘You’re not lost in despair’, Varda had said to him. Fëanáro hadn’t understood at first, but now he did. It seemed that Eru had really blessed him at last, and the return from Mandos was only the first part of it. “Do you really want to give hope to a hopeless man?” he asked Nerdanel.

Nerdanel let out a little laugh, and for a moment, she was again the Nerdanel he remembered, the one who replied with gentle mockery to his caustic sarcasm. “Hopeless? Fëanáro, I know you too well to be tricked by your silver tongue. Say whatever you like about how you’ve not changed your mind … You regret what happened to our sons. You regret what happened between us. Don’t deny it.”

‘How did she know?’ Fëanáro wondered. Nerdanel couldn’t know what he had said to the Valar, for the council was secret. Nor she could have read his thoughts, for he kept his mind jealously locked. Once he had shared with her his thoughts without any question, but that time was long ago. 

“Have I ever denied it?” Fëanáro replied at the end. “You know that I love our sons. But it doesn’t change the fact that I would have never broken my Silmarilli. Not then, and not now. They contain parts of my own soul, and with it, they contain my love for my mother and father, for our sons, and for you … They still do, even if they’re lost to me forever, in the air, in the fire, and in the deep ocean. No, I will never regret my choice.”

He remembered the rage of Tulkas, and the disillusionment in Aulë’s eyes when he had said such things in front of the Council of the Valar. Nerdanel had said that she didn’t hate him anymore, but now that he was saying such things to her, would she change her mind?

He would never dare to say such things out loud, but unlike Manwë, he did not see any sign of redemption in the fact that he had loved, and he still loved. Instead, didn’t it make him even more monstrous? The Orcs and the other creatures of Melkor, twisted and corrupted Children of Eru, who had been bred in darkness, had known only hate for all their lives, and they could not conceive love. So it was really a fault of them if they replied with hate to a world that already despised them?

But he … he had no such excuse. He knew what love was since his first breath, for Míriel had loved him so much that she had given all her force and all her spirit to him, so that he would live, even though it had meant her death. 

Once again, a sad smile appeared on Nerdanel’s lips. “And now I know it. But it has taken me a long time to realize it … a long time of loneliness and bitterness, during which my wounded pride was the only thing left to me. I realized too late that darkness was slowly eating me, too.”

Fëanáro fell silent. She had never cried when he had abandoned her in Tirion, or when he had said such cruel words to her: fierce as she was, she had preferred curses to supplications. But if pride had only brought him to his death, what had such pride done to her? What words had she spoken to herself in the loneliness of their abandoned house, when she was too haunted by her ghosts for sleep and the despair was closing its fingers around her neck and everything had seemed lost to her?

“This is my biggest regret.” He looked directly in her eyes. Excuses wouldn’t make up for what he had done, but at least she would know he was sincere in his words. “I’ve done what not even Melkor, not even the inexorable Mandos could have done to us: I’ve made myself your enemy.”

“Aye”, she sighed. “How much I longed to hear such words from your mouth … How much I longed to hear you beg for my forgiveness … But once again, what does it matter anymore? You’re not the only one who has changed, Fëanáro. What did you think when your eyes had finally rested on me? Do I still match your memories?”

‘No’. She wasn’t anymore the laughing maiden that he had taken in his arms under the cozy light of the Trees, who had whispered soft words of love in his ears while their bodies got mingled like the rays of Laurelin and Telperion during the Mingling of the Lights. 

“No, you’ve changed,” he repeated, this time loudly. “And you’re right, I too have changed. I’ve heard that the world itself has changed as a whole. But my love for you hasn’t changed. That is the only thing I’m sure of.”

She bent her head a little, a gesture she used to do a lot, and this time, there was a twinkle of amusement in her dark green eyes. “I’m glad to hear such words, Fëanáro. But my question is: are you ready to make such words into actions? Words are nothing without deeds.”

“Aye” Fëanáro exhaled. “I was never one who just speaks without doing nothing, and I will not start to be one now. But Nerdanel … _how_? How can I do it?”

Nerdanel took a step towards him, her eyes fixed on his own. “I want to give you another chance, Fëanáro.” She was so close now: if he had extended his arm, he would have touched her … “Let’s start again. I don’t know if one day we’ll live again as man and wife, but let’s give it a try. We have changed, aye, but maybe something good can come out of it. I want to know you again, to know who you are now, to know once again your heart, and then, maybe, one day we’ll decide what it will be of our love. If my feelings for you are a fire that only waits to be rekindled, well, Fëanáro, I’ll gladly give you another opportunity. Let’s start something new together.”

Fëanáro just nodded. For the first time for centuries, for _millennia_ , his heart was full of happiness, of health, a sensation he thought he had completely forgotten. He was so overwhelmed by those sensations, new and familiar at the same time, that he took some time for reply.

“I thought it was going to be a farewell at first,” he said, smiling. “The Valar have declared that I won’t dwell in Aman for a long time, but I will rather wander in Middle Earth, and see with my own eyes what this new Age of Men is like. I … I always wished to go in the lands of our ancestors with you, my lady. You know that. But that is your choice, and yours alone.”

“And how can I refuse such an offer? Yes, I will gladly be your companion, Fëanáro”. She sighed. “You know, I thought you were wrong in calling Aman a golden cage, once, but … after all those ages, I understood what you were saying. I will always thank the Valar in my prayers, but I’m tired of staying here, in this place where nothing changes. They say that the love of the Eldar dwells more in memories than in everything else, but memories are cold company at night. I’m tired of the ashes, I want the _fire_.”

Fëanáro wanted to embrace her tightly, to press his forehead against her soft cheek, to kiss her lips, to feel her again under his skin, to kindle again the fire of their hearts, but he simply reached for her hand. ‘One day’ he told himself. Better to not rush things too soon, especially now that they were just at the beginning. She let him take her hand, though, and didn’t shy from his touch.

“My lady” he murmured, his words coming out from his mouth like a cascade. “My only true love. For you, I will cross all the distance between Aman and the Doors of the Morning, and back, and I will kill all the abominations closed in Utumno and in Angamando. A new beginning for you … perhaps Eru has blessed me in truth.”

Nerdanel laughed, and suddenly, Fëanáro decided that he didn’t care anymore that the new sunlight looked nothing like the light of the Trees, for her eyes were radiant like stars in the twilight, and her hair dark as bronze. “Don’t thank me any soon! Redemption is a hard path, and you have only taken the first step.” She replied.

“Better to take the first step than never taking it at all.” Fëanáro finally let out a real laugh, not one tinted with a bitter irony like the ones before. “Aye, redemption is a hard path, but I’m here, I’m on it, and I can already see the rising light at the end. Now that we’re out of the darkness, Nerdanel, it’s time for the dawn to come for us.”

Proudly it stands  
Until the worlds end  
The victorious banner of love  
\--- Blind Guardian- The Maiden and the Minstrel Knight

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve long thought about a possible ‘Fëanor returns’ episode for my series, but only now I’ve finally decided to write it down. Fëanor is a very complex character and I admit that I initially was scared of the idea of handling such a topic, because I used to say to myself: ‘Fëanor’s personality is so _titanic_ that it makes sense for him to return only at the End of Arda.’ But the idea of making Fëanor and Nerdanel meet again, and also to make Fëanor see how much the world has changed, was too fascinating to abandon it fully. And this is how I ended up solving this matter. I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
